A Girl I Never Knew
by KelsieJeanne
Summary: A story about a teenage girl who just might be the dreaded Samara, yet never knew it.


I remember the way that summer changed me. Not only was it different, yet it's impact on my life is unforgettable. The summer I turned 15, which was three years ago. As an adult, I cannot help but wonder what life's outcome would've been had it not been for that summer. And the choices I made.

That summer was stickier, hotter than usual. I remember the way the beads of sweat would glisten among my wrinkled brows as I ran along my street. Running is something I've always been good at. I was born a runner. That's what Daddy said before he died from lung cancer when I was 9. He always said that whenever I was in trouble, I didn't always have to face it. I could simply run my way out of it, never stopping for a short breath of air. Mother and I were both sad to see Daddy pass away, yet I never really understood their relationship, and why it lasted as long as it did. I remember them fighting a lot. Sometimes I would hear my name in their irate arguments. I would go upstairs, and lock myself in my room for hours upon end, sometimes skipping dinner altogether.

If I couldn't run, I would hide up there instead. After Daddy died, I lost the ability to cry. I simply didn't anymore. I became filled with stoicism. Mother never really loved me all that much. I don't think she really had the compassion or integrity to love another person. By that summer I turned 15, we had stopped talking completely. We would eat dinner at the same table, watch the same movies together at three o' clock in the morning, and even grocery shop together, yet neither of us murmured a word. I deeply regret never taking a moment to understand her, or even acknowledge her. I wish I had the courage to come right out and tell her about my life, the courage she never possessed. By this point, my lack of friends was obvious. It was difficult for anyone to miss the fact that I was always seen alone, standing on the pavement outside my high school, or walking down the cosmetics aisle at the local drugstore.

I lived in a small town, where everyone knew everyone, and everything about the population of the town for that matter. If you decided to buy a new pink shirt from Rich's, your teacher, classmates, and even relatives of our town's inhabitants would be informed. This was always something I never understood. Why people wasted their lives making futile attempts to comprehend the actions and feelings of another human being. I remember the day I was running along Old Heron River. It was actually more of a creek, but I guess in our town, everything seemed bigger than it really was. My heart was beating in rhythm with my feet as they pounded against the cement, and the panting of my weary lungs. My tennis shoes were two sizes too small, and my toes were forming crimson blisters. I don't really remember why I was running, but I was doing so at an expeditious rate. Most of my childhood memories are blurred thoughts I've hidden away in my mind, praying they won't escape from the depths of my body.

Within a second, I was on the ground, flat on my face with a nosebleed and scraped knees. As I slowly stood up, I turned to see a small black tape. It was unlabeled, and simply sitting there on the sidewalk. It had a miniscule dent on the side, as if someone had carelessly yet forcefully tossed it onto the cement. In my fury, I grabbed the tape, planning to rip it apart for ruining my steadiness. Yet something inside of me, a small voice inside my mind, told me not to. Perhaps it was sheer curiosity, or possibly the need to feel a mystery lurking in the back of my mind. Either way, I chose to take it.

Mother was out at Mrs. Bee's. Not that she left a note, as we barely communicated, but because it was Thursday. Thursday was Poker Day at Mrs. Bee's house. She lived about two houses down from us, in an old, worn-down wood-paneled home, that had suffered in the rain one too many times. I sat in front of the television set in our family room that consisted of hardly anything else, other than a floral-patterned sofa and an end table with a lamp. I clicked on the lamp. The light bulb flickered, but I was too lazy to get another one. I just left it as it wavered small beams of light on the murky wall behind me. I popped in the cassette, now stained with blood from my wounded hands, and leaned against the sofa. Sprawled on the floor, I thought the tape was nothing but a blank piece of junk. It was just static. Suddenly, the black and white colors slowly began to form images.

The pictures weren't necessarily disturbing, as some call them now. They were just…strange. You cannot quite describe them. I had never seen anything like them. They were random scenes…a ladder…a woman brushing her hair…another falling into an ocean below. I saw a girl, only about the age of 9, standing by a well. Her long dark hair was tumbling below her shoulders, flat amongst her face. Something about her intrigued me; I couldn't tell what. Yet I seemed to know her. She looked something like a younger version of me. Black hair, long and slightly wavy, limp. She was petite, and rather pale. Suddenly, I knew what the tape was. I recalled hearing rumors about this tape. It supposedly killed others; this "horrific" girl did anyway. Yet the random deaths suddenly stopped by the time I was twelve. I was in counseling then.

At that ripe age, I was extremely depressed. My father's death was still a burden to me, and I did not find any enjoyment in life. I was losing weight, running too much instead of eating meals. That was all I ever seemed to do. I must've done more, yet I cannot remember really. I was suffering severe memory loss. At times, I could not remember where I had been for an entire afternoon. Sometimes days. The doctors worried my condition would never better, yet it did. Part of my depression may have been caused because I used to have friends. That is, until they all died, due to this "tape." I honestly thought it was all bogus. A prank that went wrong. I had three close friends, Amy, Maggs, and Champly. Well…they all died one day. All three at once.

I could not recall why the tape I was viewing was so familiar. That's when it hit me. I glanced away from the television screen at a photo of me on the wall. It was taken two days before Daddy died. Looking back at the television, I was struck with amazement and horror. The girl looked…well…not just like me…exactly like me. Exactly like I did.

That summer I learned something…well at least I think I did. Could I possibly be the dreaded Samara?

The deaths had ceased, yet by the time I was seventeen, my heart was filled with excess amounts of grief and confusion. I haven't talked to my mother in a year, which is actually about 10 in reality. As I lay here in my bed, I am not sure of who the person inside of me really is. Outside my window, I watch as a young boy of 13 sits on his bed as well, in front of a television set. A girl with a well comes on. The same scene I watched so long ago. Suddenly, his screen goes to static. My window is open as well, as I am listening to the pitter-patter of the raindrops, larger than usual, tumbling to the city street below me. Suddenly, the boy jerks up, with a panicked, terrified expression taking over his bewildered face. He slowly, reluctantly, picks up a telephone next to him. He waits in silence, waiting, waiting. Waiting for her voice.

I suddenly look down, finding the phone in my own bedroom is off the hook, and sitting in my hand. I can hear him breathing across the line. Sudden realization begins to come over me as a person I thought I knew so well whispers, "Seven days. Seven days before you die." I can only wonder as I see myself in the mirror hanging across from me, speaking those very words in a melancholic voice I do not recognize.


End file.
